Dating Holmes for dummies
by lizzieBdarcy
Summary: She was a pathologist with a morbid sense of humor. He was a high functioning sociopath with a heart of gold. This is the story of what happens when the world's only consulting detective tries to date the one woman who counted the most. I OWN NOTHING. IF THERE IS A SITUATION YOU WANNA SEE, LEMME KNOW. IT MIGHT JUST HAPPEN.
1. Chapter 1

_Rule #136- Sherlock will say things that catch you off guard. Try to recover in a timely manner_

It was the please that caught her.

He had used 'please' maybe a handful of times in the various years of their acquaintance. Sherlock didn't bother with things like pleasantries, he had no use for them, save for when he needed something. More often than nought, it was a character he played to get whatever it was he wanted. Once the goal was achieved,please and thank you went out the window.

So when her phone vibrated on that fateful tuesday afternoon, with a text from the detective himself, she had a good mind to ignore it. Since the fall they'd gotten closer, Molly even liked to think of them as friends. Her stint with Tom had been an attempt at moving past the crush she'd harboured for years, his little display with that Janie or Jeanine or whatever her name was, had been cruel. Even for Sherlock.

Needless to say, between that and the drugs and him being sent away.. She held no illusions about the man. He had love in him, she knew it from how he behaved with the Watson's, with Mrs. Hudson. Even Lestrade. But that was not a part that showed itself often and if you blinked, you could miss it. Which is probably why she picked up the phone, because they were friends and friends texted one another. That's all there was to it.

Probably.

Her phone went off again, with the little pink panther theme song signaling it as Sherlock. This time though, she opened the message.

 _Come to Baker Street at once, if convenient._

 _If inconvenient, come anyway._

 _Please._

" **I don't know what state the flat is in, he was on his violin for several hours until just this morning.** If I didn't have my sleeping tonic I don't know what I would have done. I do hope you can sort him out Molly, whatever's going on." Mrs. Hudson confided in her, leading the way up to 221B. Molly frowned.

"Has John been by? He would know, wouldn't he? What's going on I mean." Molly suggested. Mrs. Hudson shrugged, opening the door. "You know how newlyweds can be in their honeymoon phase. But if he's asked you over, I can't think of better company. Sherlock? Molly's here. You be nice now." She ordered, poking her head in.

The young man in question was dressed to the nines, purple dress shirt ironed crisply and black dress shoes so shiny they reflected light from the flames in the fireplace. His hair was freshly ruffled, suit jacket open and Molly had to swallow as her mouth went involuntarily dry at the sight of him.

"Mrs. Hudson, my mother already did her best to instill in me a sense of decorum and chivalry, I'd appreciate your giving up the endeavor." He replied with a roll of his eyes. The older woman pursed her lips.

"I mean it, she's a very nice young lady so you mind your manners."

With a smile of encouragement for Molly, she disappeared back downstairs. Meanwhile, the young pathologist shrugged out of her coat and hung it on the coat rack near the door.

"Hi Sherlock. What'd you need me to come over for?" She asked. He said nothing, instead studying her until she began to shift from foot to foot.

"What? Do I have something on my face or something?" She asked.

"I have intentions." He announced, instead of answering her question. This only served to confuse her more, and her lips lifted in a smile.

"Intentions are good.. What are you intending to do, exactly?"

His eyes narrowed and he turned his back to her, looking out the open window. Framed in it's silhouette, breeze running through his hair like a lover's fingers and the light of the fire enveloping him, Sherlock Holmes looked every bit the lone wolf he claimed to be.

"Sherlock?" She prodded again, softly now.

"I have intentions... concerning you, Molly Hooper." He finally rumbled. You could have knocked her over with a feather. Blinking, she hugged herself and let him continue,

"Would you like to-"

"Solve crimes with you?/Have dinner with me?"

Molly flushed, nearly choking on her own spit and trying fervently not to hack up a lung. Sherlock allowed her a few moments of breathing before trying again.

"What I meant to say is.. Would you like to solve crimes with me, after which we will share a meal?" He asked.

"I… I'm.." _At a complete loss._

"Romantic intentions. That is, my intentions towards you are of a romantic nature." He stammered out.

She had imagined this moment for so long. Sometimes he would sweep her up into his arms, declare his undying love and they would sail off into the proverbial sunset together. Other times, they would work a case together and at the end of it he would ask her to be his partner for the rest of their days. Still other times it would happen in the morgue and there would be a spotlight and dancing and all the corpses would sit up, having magically come back to life and clap-

Okay so maybe that last one was a bit much. Of course, Sherlock _liked_ what she did for a living, appreciated her expertise.. Was that really a good thing? After all, the first time she'd asked him for coffee he'd been beating a corpse senseless to check the bruising patterns. And his type seemed to be the more imposing and confident sort. Lord she needed to get a life. Maybe stop falling for handsome sociopaths while she was at it…

"Molly? I… you should sit, you look unwell." She allowed him to usher her over to the couch, taking a seat and watching as he sat across from her.

"Perhaps I should have said it differently.. I didn't wish to consult John on the matter as he'd have been insufferable about it and Mary would most certainly have told him had I used _her_ as a resource and so.. Molly say something for pity's sake!" He finished, alarmed at her glazed eyes.

"I don't even own a riding crop!" She blurted out. His eyebrows raised and she groaned.

Why couldn't he have just said please?


	2. Ch2 Rule 43 Dates will rarely be normal

**Chapter 2: Rule# 43- Dates will rarely be normal**

If she was being completely honest, right up until their first date Molly had her doubts.

After the abrupt declaration of his intent and her humiliating response, Molly didn't know whether to laugh at the absurdity or cry in embarrassment. For all the progress she'd like to think she made, Sherlock Holmes continued to catch her unawares.

She could scarcely look Sherlock in the eye as she hurried to gather her things, a fact that was not lost on him as she rushed for the door.

"I take it this is a refusal then?" He asked to her rapidly retreating back. "Not- well I- call on me thursday, won't you? I have to go. This doesn't mean no! I just- that is… I have to go." She finished.

Somehow she made it home, and almost immediately was in a conversation with Toby. The pros and cons, the possibility of this all being some cruel twist for a case, even what might happen if she agreed to go through with it. Toby didn't have much in the way of advice, other than the occasional meow and judgemental look.

After several hours, six cups of tea and a short nap, Molly had her answer.

She agreed to a date.

 **For their first date, he'd wanted to do something special.** He took into careful consideration the various facts he knew concerning Molly's interests and planned accordingly.

-Molly adored the ballet, but as the occasion was rather formal and he wanted to put her at ease, that activity would have to be saved for a later point once their relationship had blossomed.

-She considered mundane activities such as movie going and spending time in the pub to be a good de-stressor from work or days with bad weather. Perhaps time at one of these and chips for a second date?

-They often spent many an hour in one another's company in the morgue, working on experiments and corpses. Could this somehow translate to an evening of romance?

Sherlock was an expert in many things, but intimate relationships was not one of them. Still loathe to ask for assistance, he instead decided to base it off the pattern he'd seen used by John.

One generally spent an hour of prep time on their appearance and hygiene, before engaging in an activity deemed enjoyable. Before or after this activity, there was usually a meal shared and John never left for an initial meeting without flowers.

Molly's favorites were orchids, which meant a trip to the other side of London and meeting with his contact in the flora underground. One dinner reservation, a call to Lestrade and a trip to the tailors later, he was ready to go.

Given that her behavior had been so erratic when they spoke in person, Sherlock decided the best thing to do would be to communicate through text.

 _I will pick you up from St. Bart's friday afternoon, at 16:30. Please bring along a change of clothes suitable for an evening meal and anything you may need for the evening. Text back if this is acceptable._

While waiting for response, he looked through the crime scene photos sent by the inspector. The case was maybe a low seven, but a welcome distraction as he wasn't entirely certain Molly would respond positively. Privately, he allowed himself to entertain the notion of her dismissal. When he'd first spoken to her about his feelings, he'd decided being direct would be the best way to go about the situation.

This had proven to be incorrect, as she'd nearly had a panic attack after their discussion. He'd done a great deal of research on the topic in order to prepare himself, and he reaction was not in line with his findings. According to the internet, his father, angelo and some sort of talk show host known mainly by her first name, (Oprah something or another) the relationship between himself and Molly had been ripe with sexual tension.

He was well aware of her crush on him, and had often used it as a means to an end when needing something for a case. Finding her engaged to Tom had been.. Peculiar. It caused an odd tightness in his chest to think of her romantically entangled with someone else, enough so that he considered asking John if he seemed ill. Gradually, after the engagement had dissolved and the case with magnussen was handled, it occurred to him that perhaps he wasn't sick after all.

If he was, the feelings were alleviated upon being in Molly's presence; ergo Molly was the cure for whatever this was ailing him.

It took several more conversations with John, a few snickered comments by Lestrade and even one stomping foot from Mrs. Hudson to bring him to the realization that his feelings ran deeper. Which meant he was now going on a real, actual date with his pathologist and even an angry John was not quite so frightening.

So here they were. Or, they would be. She wasn't sure what to expect, but had told him she would need time to get ready and it would be easier to do that at her flat. He then replied with a rather cryptic text:

 _Wear a lab coat._

Feeling a little ridiculous, (after all, she was in her best pencil skirt and only lace blouse beneath the lab coat) she knocked on the door and put on her game face when the door swung open.

Sherlock was looking particularly dashing in armani, the neat lines of his button down accentuating his lanky build. He held a small notepad in one hand and a carefully cultivated orchid in the other, while his eyes ran over her briefly. She resisted the urge to fidget and managed, barely.

"You wore your good skirt." He murmured. Of _course_ he would comment.

"Yes well.. It's a special occasion, isn't it?" She smiled back.

"Yes.. right." He was still staring and this time, she did fidget.

"Is there something the matter?" His lips quirked and he opened the door wider for her to step in.

"No. This is for you." He offered her the orchid, watching with rapt attention

"Ohh… Sherlock it's lovely. Thank you. I.. is it alright if I set it on the counter for now?" She put her present down, taking in the setup of the kitchen and main room. There were various stations arranged; she assumed it was for various cases he was currently working on. One had a viscous liquid dripping down past a fan with a canvas directly across, she wondered if he was testing for arterial spray.

The next was in a bucket on the kitchen table, judging from the discoloration on the fabric the liquid within was some sort of acidic compound and it had a notebook at the ready for recording results.

The third 'station' was on one of the counters, various petri dishes containing samples surrounded a microscope with another notebook and graph paper alongside. Having known Sherlock to be a multi-tasker when it came to science, Molly wasn't surprised by the obvious thought that had been put into all this, but wondered why he'd insisted they meet at Baker street with so much going on.

Her question was answered when he handed her a pair of safety glasses and then put on his own.

"For the first portion of our evening I thought we might do some experiments together. You appeared to find them enjoyable at the morgue and I had a few cases I thought might interest you. If you would like." He turned away to rearrange the notes on the table and on anyone else Molly might have called it nerves.

"Why don't we start with the canvas? Then we can allow the spray pattern to dry and see where the paint ends up lying." She suggested. His mouth turned up at the corner again and Molly decided she'd had worse first dates. She watched him walk away and blushed when she realized where her gaze was headed. As a matter of fact, this date was looking pretty good.


End file.
